


Isle of Ice

by cchilelli



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Concubines, Hardcore Women, Historical Accuracy, Historical Characters - Freeform, Historical Figures, Historical References, Historical Short Story, Historically Accurate Abuse of Women, Multiple Voices POV, Old Norse, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, POV Original Female Character, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Viking Era, roaming pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cchilelli/pseuds/cchilelli
Summary: A historical fiction short story following three women in the Icelandic Battle of Örlygsstaðir. The POV characters are all fictional, but the clan leaders and events are based on the real Battle of Örlygsstaðir, which shaped Iceland. This is my first AO3 piece, but I have much more content, so stay tuned and I'll be posting more soon. Feedback and comments are always welcome and thanks so much for reading!
Kudos: 1





	Isle of Ice

Eira  
I was born to warriors. I was raised alongside warriors. I was surrounded by a people whose entire being centered around fighting, sword craft, and killing. But I never really became one of them. My father was a swordsman, as were most of my people, the Danes, but my mother was of meeker stock. That was uncommon, for one of my people to be so quiet and peaceable amidst the likes of warriors. I suppose I inherited that from her.  
My father rode with the greatest of the greats in the war with the Saxons for England, the isle to the south and across the water. He left me and my mother behind with our clan on Frón, for he had a duty as an oathman, and that outweighed any duty he had to us. My mother was his woman, but he still rarely spent time with us, even when he was around. The call of ale and the company of his sword-brothers was far more important him, it seemed.  
I grew up among those considered the future leaders and heroes. They all fought, even when they were just mere children, in the square of the town. I remember watching them hit each other with wooden swords, sticks, anything they could find. Their favorite was to practice a death match, though there was no actual death in their squabbles.  
Yet, even without the death, the thought was always haunting to me. I remember seeing children as young as six challenge a brother or a friend to a battle of skill, with canes, shadowing the matches and ways of their fathers. All the children know the way to form a square in which those fighting must remain. They send in the two, usually bickering over something they had since forgotten, with wooden canes. They learn quickly not to show mercy, for if they do, they are the ones who emerge with purple bruises. I can still hear the shouts of children gathered round, jeering as they watch an older boy wail on his younger brother. They are learning the ways of their fathers, of warriors, they said; they would make great warriors when grown.  
Ashida  
My father was a warrior, not one of great wealth, but of high ranking and great renown. He raised me likewise, always having taught me the ways of the battlefield and how to wield a sword. When the little boys played with their wooden sticks, I played alongside them, even in my young age starving for glory and their respect.  
I grew, just as they did, and just as my female peers did. But I did not put aside the blade as many did. When I was sixteen, I accompanied my father to battle; a thrill unlike any other. I walked out alongside him, my heart pounding as we prepared to meet the forces of another clan, spinning my sword, fighting to keep my nerves from shaking my hands. The cries of an army, two armies, filled my ears and I found myself lost to its power. The call of blood. We rushed out, slinging our swords high. And we fell upon each other, men meeting men, and swords meeting swords. I cast aside a few blows, but eventually, I had to stand before a man and knew I was to kill or be killed by. I rose to the challenge, and I looked him in the eye as I sent him to the halls of Valhalla. There was no fear from him, there was no more hesitation from me, and the nerves washed away as his blood ran down my sword. I have never lost the taste for war, not in all my years on the field. It has only ever served to make me more hungry for the taste of blood and the sound of metal clanging against metal.  
When I came of marrying age at twenty, I had a fair amount of suitors. I was a warrior, like them. I understood the ways of war, and I fought alongside them. I was not going to be some meek housewife, some trinket wife that they could have to come home to. No, I was their equal. I demanded their respect, and I received it.  
It was Kolbienn who earned my respect, and showed me the same. I married well, for Kolbienn was well above my own rank, but he wanted a claim on some of my father’s men, which he now has. Yet he has never treated with me anything but respect, for he understands I am a warrior just as he is, and that is all I ask.  
Vaaka  
I was born to a bed slave and a lord, not the ideal beginnings for anyone, but especially not a woman. My early years were spent beneath my ruined mother’s fists and being denied by my father that I was his, saying his whore had been unfaithful to him. I suppose I did not take after either of them; pale skin, blonde hair, and green eyes. But then again, I am not of man, I am of the gods.  
It first started when I was but fourteen. I started to see beyond this world. I saw the future. I saw births and deaths, the path to victory for some, and the path to defeat for others. At first it was only in dreams, but then, I learned to manipulate my powers beyond sleep. I taught myself to see beyond, and from the ashes of my mother’s ruin, I rose.  
I had seen what men did to my mother; beat her, sell her from man to man, accuse her of disloyalty, misuse her. And I had seen what men did to me; beat me, starve me, accuse me of being another’s, and cast me aside. But in time, I became a prize to be won, but a prize who refused to be won.  
On occasion, I would pledge my loyalty to one man or another, stand at his side for a time. But I was never his wife, nor his woman. They haunted my steps, one after the other, lusting for my beauty and my gifts. But they could never own me. My gifts had to be given, and no man I have thus encountered understands this, for they are all obsessed with taking what they desire.  
So, I have formed temporary alliances with this lord, or that warrior. I have gone from camp to camp of my own accord, deciding with whom my loyalties and gifts lie for the time being. I have been pursued before, by men who think they can entrap me and force out my prophesies, but they cannot.  
I have blessed men, but I have cursed nearly thrice the number. They must learn not to cross me, not to force my hand, for I seek out my enemies and those who would try to harm me with a vengeance. My gifts cannot even be bought with coin, as many other seers can. They see me as a blessing, for often where I go, blessings follow. Some others still see me a curse, for where I go, curses also follow. That is the price they must pay, that some are rewarded, and some are punished. The gods are fickle, and I can see my path, as I can see that of others, but what I do not know is the choices others will make which alter the path. There are too many to see, yet I know I will never feel lost, for I have the gods to guide me and those who serve the gods to cater to my whims.  
Eira  
They tell me it is a great honor, to bear the child of Gissur. I do not see how it is an honor, given that I am nothing but a child bearer for him. He chose me, out of all the women of the village, to be the woman to have his child, for his own wife is barren. But I do not want that for myself. I have never wanted that for myself.  
I have seen how such women are treated. I am nothing, not to him now, nor would I be after I have his child. He needs an heir, that is all. He might as well take a slave girl. I am not his wife, nor his woman, nor will I be. I will not be provided for by him, nor will I be under his protection, yet I will be unable to be the woman of another man.  
And until he sires my child? He will visit me when he is drunk on ale and his wife turns him away. He may be the one who holds the swords of the men of the village, but he was not my master. Not until now. But because he is given some title by being the best at holding his ale and fighting to the death while blindly drunk, I am supposed to be grateful for having been chosen by him. He chose me because I am the most handsome woman already unclaimed, and he thought he would like me for himself. When a child is born, I will be the one to care for it. I will be the one who tends to it, raises it, and loves it. It will only become of use to him after it is old enough to hold a sword. And if it is not a son, I will have to start again. He will not be a father, he will be the sire, nothing more, and I have no voice in the matter.  
Gissur is leaving, for a time. I am to become his whore when he returns. But for now, he goes to meet with Strula, a clan-leader who has summoned him. I believe he is attempting to arrange an alliance, but I know Gissur, though not very well.  
Ashida  
I am blessed. Everyone else tells me otherwise, but I do not see it as so. They say that I am unlucky because I cannot bear a child. I see myself as fortunate because of the man I am with. The people of our village have urged Kolbienn to take another woman, so that he might have an heir, but he has thus refused. He says that it is not meant to be so, and I cannot express how lucky I believe myself to be for having married a man who feels as such.  
Had he been different, more like our people, he would have taken another woman, if only to have a child with, years ago. But he has not. I am not sure why he feels that way, for it is not considered dishonorable on any save for myself, if he were to bear children with another. I also know he does not fear being a father, for we have talked of it many a time. What he does not know is the fault is my own, for I crossed a seer many years ago. Treacherous creatures, unpredictable and vindictive.  
Vaaka  
I have been scorned and cast out of just as many villages as I have been welcomed into, for I have cast many a curse. Some know of my darkness, my ability to destroy and they refuse me entrance before knowing if I am good or evil. That is fair enough, for they are right. I am dangerous. Some know of this, of my treachery, and they refuse me. They know I am snake-tongued and deadly, so they avoid me. But, in truth, fate will always catch up to them, no matter how they try to avoid it.  
I have seen much. I suppose I am restless. The gods guide me, and they are restless. I am wanderer. Some have made attempts at my beauty, my youth, but they forget; the seer is also the warrior. I have been enough places on this earth to care for myself. I can just as easily slit a man’s throat and drain the life from his body as I can cast runes and predict the future, whether the killing is for sacrifice, sport, or protection. I do not let the gods decide the fate of such men, for they have chosen their own fate, and that is to be at my mercy. And I do not show mercy.  
I do not even take chastises from those around me. I have insulted many lords, rulers of men, and just as many warriors. I do not feel shame in doing it. I am a messenger, not an inferior, to these people. No man may command me, which is why I have never pledged my loyalty for more than a battle, and even then, sometimes I have gone back on my word as the gods command. I am their vessel.  
Eira  
When Gissur returned, he was enraged. He cried his story out for all to hear. Strula met with him at Lake Apavatn and demanded him to become his oathman, for he was the only man in all of our icy land which Strula feared. Gissur refused, and he was taken. When he was released, it was because he vowed his loyalty to Strula on bent knee, only to be commanded that he leave the isle. He could go out in search of new lands, but this is our home, and he did not want to leave.  
He means to seek aid from Kolbienn, a man he thinks will be reasonable and lend aid to him, though I do not want to see another war. Danes are always bloodthirsty, lusting after war or ale or women, but never content to settle down for a moment, live a quieter life. They will have peace in Valhalla, they all say.  
Ashida  
Every day, Kolbienn says the war is coming. That he will soon march on Strula. He has met with Gissur, leader of one of the nearby clans, in to arrange an alliance which will throw Strula out of our land. Strula is like a virus, latching onto and feeding off of our lands and our people, even though he has no right to it. We will march on him, if the time comes.  
I keep myself informed of the happenings of lords, though many consider it to be beyond the scope of my knowledge and rank. But if my husband is involved, and I am going to be asked to fight, then I wish to know why. That is the difference between me and the men, I use my head. They think only with their bloodlust and their loins, forgetting all which should be asked when the call of war has come. I have a war mongering too, yet I know when to offer my blade, and when to withhold it.  
Kolbienn asked me, one summer night if he should join Gissur in an alliance against Strula. It seems only practical, for combined they would have a force great enough to sever the ties Strula has to the land. He is unreasonable, and while I do not desire a perfect, unbreakable peace, I do not want a civil war between clans.  
So, we will march with the youngest son, Gissur, with seventeen hundred men, to Strula’s twelve hundred. We outnumber him, but all the numbers, on both sides, will be the accumulation of all our might. It will be a bloody victory, if there is victory. I hear that Strula’s father has a seer, a woman who has come through Kolbienn’s camp before. I am not overly religious, yet I fear such a thing is a bad omen. We have the numbers, but they say the seer has the force of the gods behind her, and I for one do not want to face the gods on the battlefield.  
Vaaka  
I have aligned myself with Sighvatur, the father of Strula. He is an old, ailing man now, but I see this alliance as my future. He brought five hundred men to fight alongside his son in this unavoidable battle. Naturally, Sighvatur does not realize my allegiance to him is nothing more than means to an end. It is my path, as the gods have lain it before me, to be at his side. To bear witness to these events.  
I cast the runes tonight, at his request. They did not come out favorably. I requested to make a sacrifice to the gods, but they refused because I wanted to hang a man upside down and slit his throat, then permit his blood to drain into the fire. It seems they do not have a prisoner with which I could be allowed dominion over the life of. So, I cast the runes sprinkled with the blood of the old king. It was the best I could do without a human at my disposal. What a sorry waste of my gifts; an afront to my talent. I do not take such things lightly.  
They do not realize that these things make all the difference to the gods. I am not some blood-wanting wretch; I have seen a sacrifice, made by me, change the path of a battle or the fate of a king. I am the favorite child of the gods, and I go alongside Strula and his feeble old father without fear, knowing that I have their protection upon my head. I have been to Kolbienn’s and Gissur’s clans before and they know who I am. No matter the outcome, I will want for nothing, as I always have, for at least one of the clan leaders will protect me. I fear not the fate of Strula.  
Eira  
We have traveled for two days. I have always hated traveling, but Gissur wanted me to go with him. He left his wife back home so that he might have more chances with me while away. I did not want to go, but everyone said it was my duty, to see the men off.  
We near Strula’s army, they say. By morn’s light tomorrow, the men will have marched out to meet him. They are seventeen hundred strong, as we joined with Kolbienn’s men yesterday. I’ve heard stirrings that Strula has just over a thousand; that the victory should be easy, but I do not like to think of any victory as easy. Every battle as a loss of men. I would protest it if I had a voice, but I am but a mute to them.  
They left today before dawn. They rode out, on their horses, with their battle axes and their war paint, ready for the conflict. I hate even hearing their war chants. It makes my blood run cold. I pray to the gods above that I am not granted a son by Gissur, for I do not want to have to watch any child of mine march to battle. I fear it would be more than I could bear. They say it is an honor, that those killed in battle with the sword in hand are the ones in the highest level of Valhalla. But I do not see it that way. I see it as a waste of life.  
Ashida  
Kolbienn said it was cowardly, to attack them by surprise rather than face them head on. I told him that was not so, for in attacking without warning, we gave ourselves a better chance of victory. We do not need to show great courage, nor to do what might be considered fair. We need to drive them out. If we slaughter the heads, Strula and Sighvatur, the rest will follow. They will collapse at our will and yield us the victory. Strula has been underhanded enough throughout this dispute; it is time someone plays an underhanded trick on him and sends him to Valhalla.  
We rallied the men before dawn, the combined forces of Gissur and Kolbienn. Kolbienn and I headed the men, for I have long been frustrated with Strula and the chaos he brings upon the land. I want him gone, just as much as all the rest. This land is ours, it belongs to all of us, not just to him.  
So, we scaled the walls and began our descent into the city. Not all the men were inside the walls, but a good number of his thousand were. We made quick work of the guards, even before many of them knew what was happening. They should have posted a better guard rather than feasting themselves into oblivion on the words of a seer.  
No doubt their seer told them they would find victory, hence their carelessness. And no doubt she will say it was as she predicted when asked of it later. That is the trouble with seers, they say what they must in order to be believed. I told Kolbienn that if he finds that snake-tongued woman to end her instantly, no matter what she says to him. I do not want any seer in our custody, for I know some youthful and foolish who would come by and make trouble they cannot reverse, whether it be for themselves or another.  
But, all the same, we had victory. I found Sighvatur, the old man. There will be no Valhalla for him. It will be Niflheim instead, the cold of the dark, forever wandering lost in the lady Hel’s land.  
Vaaka  
They came, just as I had foreseen. They attacked before dawn and overran the city. It was time, and they delivered. Strula was angry, for he did not think he could be caught so unawares. He should have listened better to me, for I never said the gods would grant him a victory, I only said the gods would grant a victory. He still believed the battle would be favorable to him. Go forth, I said to Strula, you will meet your destiny, for the hour is upon you.  
I had foreseen the outcome of the battle, and it is not as Strula would like, but it is the gods will. I rode up beside him, encouraging him to go forth, but it seems he is already resigned in his fate. Kolbienn and Gissur took him by surprise. They attacked him quickly and without mercy, forcing him stay in the stronghold of Örlygsstaðir, like a coward. I did not cower, I stood at the center of the chaos, praying, chanting, calling to the gods. Let their will be carried out.  
Sighvatur was hunted down first, stripped of his weapons, then his clothes, and killed with seventeen stabs. It was not an honorable death, and one he rightly deserved after refusing me my sacrifice. I should have made a sacrifice of him that his clan might live on, for Grásíða, blessed spear of Strula has been broken.  
Eira  
Gissur returned intact, though I should perhaps not admit it, much to my dismay. The battle was won, it would seem, and whatever lord they were dueling with was slaughtered. I do not want that for my child. The child I know now that I carry. They brought back a seer, carefully attended by a woman I know to be Kolbienn’s wife. The fair-haired woman called me over, despite the warrior barking at her to hold her tongue. I rose from the fire and made my way over to her, only to have her grab my hair with her shackled hands and tell me I was with child. I tried to hold back my shock, but the tears came all the same. Her captor ushered her away immediately, leaving me to my shame.  
It is all I can do to appeal to the gods that it is not a son. Gissur would be pleased, if I were to tell him, but I shall not. I despise war. I despise these people. I am pleased to know that there may be a time of some peace for my child to grow up in on this isle, but it must be away. I cannot stay here, where the man who fathered my child is. My child must be taken away, before Gissur even knows of it, if it is to have any hope of a brighter future. All I can do is hope that someday, they turn their horizons elsewhere, outside of the isle, and outside the blinding call of war.  
Ashida  
By the grace of the gods, we were victorious, but I do not feel as though it was a victory. Kolbienn ended the life of Strula, and with it, the reign that once headed a great clan diminished. I am happy to see our lands rid of him, for he was never one we wanted hereabouts. I did my fair share of the knifework, and sent many a warrior to Valhalla. Kolbienn said I fought well, but I always do, and it was he who ended Strula. I know he felt the need to compliment because he took the seer into custody. I told him to end her life on the spot, for she cannot be trusted, but he did not heed me for once in his life as he has heard of her great gifts. I cannot see what good will come from her presence, but I know none will. She had sided with Strula, yet laughed when he was killed, as though she wanted him dead. I have no doubts about her power, but I do not trust her. She fails to heed authority, and only serves to upset the younger women of the camp. At the least, it has brought unrest to my marriage, something I have not before faced. Kolbienn ignored my express wishes and shall be dealt with accordingly. I command respect, his respect, above all else, and in taking the seer, he did not grant me my due.  
We gathered all the remaining warriors from Strula’s men. Some will be sent to Valhalla, others will be permitted to enter the clans. If they become oath-men, they will continue their lives under the rule of Kolbienn or Gissur. For now, there will be peace. I am certain war will come to Frón again, but the greatest parasite that lurked the lands is gone, and with it, the terror he brought to us. That is the thing, about Danes, if there is not a war, we start to fight amidst each other. We are bloodthirsty, wretched people, and we crave battle. It is better, though to have no great battle to tear across the land. If the only fights are between tribes, it is all the better, and the lust for war is slaked, but it does not call all of our people into play.  
Vaaka  
It was as I had seen. The slow undoing of his men. I was with him, at the end, and it was Kolbienn who found him hiding in the city’s walls, like a dog, from the wrath of his men. He did not show mercy, and I would not have wanted it. Strula’s end had come, just as I had foreseen. The man approached him, having found the one he considered his greatest enemy, and rose his sword. Strula, for once in his life, was forced to cower, while I stood nearby, my shadow falling over him, a twisted grin across my face. He must have thought me insane, but I love to see the unfolding of fate before me.  
Kolbienn raised his sword and dealt him a fatal blow, one that surely sent him straight to Valhalla. One so powerful it lifted him from the ground and I saw earth beneath Kolbienn’s feet. Strula called out, but swiftly died, leaving only me, the enchantress, behind. Kolbienn seemed disturbed by my laughs at the passing of Strula, but he seemed to know who I was. I have consulted for all the tribes, after all, and I knew who he was. He ordered his wife to take me away, to bind me in chains. I, for once, did not protest, though I should have. However, I wanted to make an impression, and I am certain my maniacal smile that I held across my face even as I was bound will be forever seared in his mind. Could I have smeared myself with the blood of Strula, I would have, but there was no time. The isle belongs to Kolbienn and Gissur, as I had seen. There would be future battles for it, but for now, it is secure, and the clans had a peace. Strula, the one rogue was weeded out from our midst.  
The wife of Kolbienn was angered by her husband taking me into custody, but he did all the same. She will forgive him; I have seen her loyalty and her commitment. Besides, there are few men who would be as honorable or understanding as he with her barren womb.  
When I entered their camp, I saw a woman, young and fair, blessed by the gods with raven hair and pale skin. I could tell by the look in her eye she was fallen, ruined. I called her over, despite the wife of Kolbienn’s protests and her knife firmly placed between my shoulder-blades. The woman was with child, I saw, and I told her. Yet, her tears were not those of joy, they were those of a broken woman, but she deserved to know.  
More conflict will come, between clans, between tribes, between men. But, in the end, the future of the isle is secured. I am certain I will be the center of conflict, in the future, but for now, there is a shaky peace, at the will of the gods. My travels will continue in years to come, that much is certain, but for now, I will consult for Kolbienn. Just for a time though, until his woman starts to continually tread on my predictions and call me false, which will happen, for I can see her hate in her eyes. Then, I will move on, as I always do. Thus is my life as a seer, never in one place for long. Yet my actions are protected by the gods, and sanctioned by the gods, and I am praised by many. I have a gift most cannot comprehend, nor should they be able to. I have a gift that permitted me rise from the ashes of a bed slave to watch the creation of a new kingdom on the isle of ice, and for that, I am grateful.


End file.
